A thorny issue emerges from Tory bed of roses

The Tories were in ebullient mood. The Labour lead has halved. They're within single figures of the government. The sun is shining and the season beckons (the season once meant Henley, Ascot and Wimbledon. Now, for the garagistes of the modern Tory party it means "Yes, it's our sizzling summer sale! Up to £1,000 off these great used Cavaliers and Vectras, all with three-year guarantee, excluding labour and parts.")

Casting my eye along the opposition spokespersons, I noticed Eric Forth's scarlet tie splashed with giant blooms in dazzling colours, David Wilshire's yellow tie with a motif of Pooh Bears, and the astounding outfit worn by Theresa May.

This consisted of a leather jacket in lavender, accompanied by black and mauve stripy shoes with toes so long and pointed you could use them to get the last meat out of a lobster.

Germaine Greer once said of someone that they wore "fuck me shoes". I wouldn't say that was the message from Theresa May's footwear, but they would have excited a frisson of interest in Angus Deayton, if you catch my drift.

In all, the Tories didn't look so much like an opposition front bench as a street party.

They cheered up even more when Tony Blair tried to describe his policy on the euro. The trouble is, he doesn't have one. Several times they tried to get him to say what it was.

Several times he said that the policy was perfectly clear, which is what he always says when he hasn't a clue and has no intention of telling us anyway.

Apparently it is something like this: in summer next year they will decide if the five economic tests have been met, and if they have, there will be a referendum on British membership.

But everyone knows that the five tests are so vague as to be meaningless. They are there to disguise the real five tests, which are as follows: (1) which side will benefit in the great Brown versus Blair war?

The other four are exactly the same.

Mr Duncan Smith rose, a subfusc figure among the Chelsea flower show ranged around him.

"Will the prime minister tell us all which cabinet minister is in charge of organising the referendum?"

Mr Blair didn't even spot that this was a trick question. "The Home Office, obviously," he replied.

IDS pounced. (He'd left Freddie the Frog at home yesterday. Clearly this was a serious matter and it wouldn't do to have a giant green dummy on his arm, however well it would have fitted in with his colleagues.)

Last year, he said, Downing Street had put out a statement saying that referendums now came under the authority of, not the home secretary, but - pause for roll of drums - the transport secretary!

The Tories collapsed with delight and hilarity. Stephen Byers was in charge of the euro referendum, and the prime minister didn't even know!

Chaos would rule! We were in for 12 months of hilarious gags about delayed polls, burying bad transport secretaries, the wrong kind of voters on the line, people being resigned without their being told and so forth.

Mr Blair had no real reply. IDS sat and smirked. The prime minister repeated his points about the five tests. "That is the policy, it is clear, and it's a damn sight clearer than any policy he has!"

To get the Rt. Rev. Blair to swear in the Commons takes some doing, and IDS had clearly scored something of a coup.

He sat back, deeply satisfied, disappearing into the mayhem of colour all around him, like a little garden mole hiding under a hydrangea.